The Glimpse of a Firebird
by Chronicles of Lewis
Summary: This story is set during the time in which Mr. Rochester requests that Jane and Adele be present every evening while the Ingram and Lynn party is lounging in the drawing room after dinner...
1. Chapter 1

"Adele, come away from the mantel, you are standing too close to the fire." Jane called out to her student who had wondered too far, as she often did.

"But it is drafty in the drawing room, Mademoiselle Eyre." The child pouted dramatically.

"I have brought your sketch pad and coloured pencils here. Some diversion in the arts will take your mind off of the chill in this room."

"You draw much better than me..."

"Much better than myself, is the proper way to say that."

"Will you make a picture for me?" Adele fluttered her lashes intending to be charming.

The teacher and student were momentarily distracted by an outburst of laughter heard within the dining room. Jane knew that the party would be in good spirit tonight.

"Very well then, and you shall make your own drawing when I am finished."

"Oui, I shall."

"What do you want in your drawing?"

"I would like...a boat on the River Seine."

"I have never seen that river to give it proper justice in appearance."

"Then...I would like a...French castle."

"Nor have I seen that, Adele. Give me something from your imagination."

Jane did not think this request would be unreasonable even though Adele possessed very little in the scope of fanciful imagery.

"I have it! The firebird!"

"A phoenix?" Jane asked as she flipped over the cover of Adele's sketchbook.

"No, Miss Eyre, the firebird that Monsieur Rochester told us about in the garden last spring."

"Ah yes, the one that flew away never to return."

"That is what I want."

Jane selected three pencils that were different variations of gray color.

"Don't forget the red wings."

"How could I forget that detail?" Jane laughed very lightly.

As she began her drawing. Adele watched very closely making suggestions that the bird should look larger to fill up the page, it's wings should be spread out farther towards the sky, its head held higher. Jane obliged Adele as long as she was no longer fidgeting or complaining about the cold room.

The voices from the dining room were raised indicating that the entire party had finished their dinner and were on their way into the main room. Adele leaped up from the settee that she shared with Jane and joined the ladies of the party to entertain them.

Jane only looked up long enough to wait for _him_ to enter the room. Mr. Rochester was one of the last to arrive. He was indeed in a light mood and laughing with Mr. Eshton about an amusing incident that occurred while the younger members of the party were at their afternoon ride on horseback. Oh, how Jane wished that he would look her way if only for the briefest glance to acknowledge her there. He never appeared to do so of all the nights that the Ingrams, Lynns, Col. Dent and the Eshton's were present.

Jane became quite immersed in her drawing as the detail of the wild bird became more elaborate and layered, it's wings took on a whole new feel of restlessness to be free of it's surroundings. She was lost in it's story, recalling the voice and feel of the storyteller at the time, her master who was so close now yet seemed so far away in the crowd.

Blanche Ingram raised her voice above the crowd to draw attention to herself...again.

"Let's have music this evening! I am in need of a song, Louisa will you play for us?"

Louisa was quick to answer Blanche by taking her place at the piano.

"I shall sing 'The Early Morning Rose' unless there is a request?"

"Sing the 'How Lovely the Day' instead." Her mother ordered.

"But that is a duet." Blanche reminded her.

Jane smirked and barely shook her head. It was obvious what the two Ingram's were plotting together.

"I shall be delighted to sing with you, my dear." Mr. Rochester answered.

The smirk was lost from Jane's expression now. Even though she knew that Blanche was leading into the two of them singing together, his voice did something to her every time she heard him sing. There was a strange tension that started somewhere in her center and rose within until she could feel her face grow warm. It was not an unpleasant yet unsettling sensation to her.

As they began to sing she heard only his voice alone. She dared not to watch the singers as she kept a rapt attention on her art at hand. Her fingers seemed to move with the sound of his song. Softer lines were drawn during the melodic tones and harder defined lines cut into the face and brow of the bird as the song reached it's final verse.

When the singers were finished, Jane felt creatively driven to finish the firebird. A rouge pencil filled in the delicate under feathers making it more striking against the gray. She was ready to make the tall grass beneath the creature when she realized that someone was standing over her, he was here with her now.

"Sir, how are you this evening?"

"Enchanted." His eyes stayed on her drawing.

"Miss Ingram has a beautiful voice, much like your own."

"Indeed. So this is what has you completely tonight."

He sat down next her, the tension within her very being during the song was back in full force. She tried to seem unaffected yet the pencil strokes of the blades of grass were now illustrated heavier as if tossed about in the wind.

"You have it, Jane. Even better than I imagined it when I told the story to Adele."

"It was she who asked for the drawing. I believe that she liked your story even though she pretended not to."

"Is it so wrong to believe in a firebird who wishes to escape and be free? To fly away never to return? Well, is it Jane?"

"I should think it very possible, sir."

"After she has revealed her true nature by the crimson wings that carry her away?"

"She? I have imagined the bird to be a 'he' as I was drawing it."

"When a gentle creature becomes fearsome in its flight, it will become lost to its beholder in so many ways. Where will it go?"

She paused and looked into his eyes. It was only a children's story yet his expression was serious, searching for her answer. He had leaned over her shoulder to see the drawing closer and now his face was so near to her own.

"Edward, can you teach Col. Dent to sing our anthem?" His guest interrupted.

"In a moment, Blanche."

Mr. Rochester pulled away as he sat up straight.

"Miss Eyre, I should very much wish to see this drawing at its completion."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't leave, Jane."

Jane thought that maybe he meant more than just for that evening's entertainment but no, that could not be possible. His arm brushed up against hers. She could feel his fingers at her elbow before he stood up to rejoin his guests. Blanche gave her a haughty look as she took control of the situation. The fiery bird was given a few last fierce strokes through it's wings.

"This bird is ready to fly." Jane thought to herself aloud.

She closed the sketch book.


	2. In Mr Rochester's Perspective

_In Mr. Rochester's Perspective_

 _This chapter is dedicated to Laura Schiller, Bonbonnett, Charlotte H, StayerOfJonas and Guest reviewers, thanks for your reviews and encouragement to continue writing. —C.O.L._

The day had gone very well for all of the guests at Thornfield. When the morning business affairs were done, Mr. Rochester invited his younger guests out for an afternoon ride since the weather was pleasantly fair. They rode over the hills until they reached the overlook of Millcote and came back the scenic way through the woods. Blanche spoke boastfully most of the time about her adventures in riding horseback on her family's estate and her dreams of going to the continent to ride in the Black Forest of Deutschland.

Mr. Rochester was polite and kept amusing conversation with Blanche and Mr. Esthon and the twins yet there were places that they passed on the ride like a glen full of clovers and a creek that had turned all white in cascades against the rocks where he wished that his dearest friend at the house could be there to see. He made up his mind to bring her there in the future on a lone ride of only her and himself, thoughts of that improved his mood even more so.

Mrs. Fairfax and the cook staff had outdone themselves this evening with a full course meal of roasted pheasant, mixed vegetables and ginger pudding. Mr. Rochester entertained his guests with stories about traveling in the Turkish countryside. Blanche hinted that she hoped that he would return there again and that she would very much like to see that country herself. The door to the drawing room had been left open to allow for fresh air. Mr. Rochester saw Adele skip past it as she made sly looks at the dining party. Then she was gone in a blur of little feathers and bows. He thought of her governess within that room keeping a watchful eye on the child and wished for a moment that he could excuse himself and join her there before the room became crowded. He missed their evening talks and afternoon walks. Any interaction with his dear friend had been limited to acknowledging nods and passing glances. He made up his mind to speak to her directly somehow tonight, conventionality be damned. The whole party laughed out loud, he had not been paying attention and made to no attempt to appear as though he was amused.

After several minutes of sitting and talking over empty plates with bits of pudding crumbs, the entire party moved on to the drawing room. Mr. Eshton had reminded Mr. Rochester of a comical scene on the ride today when one of twins had lost her hat to a tree limb and they had to ride back up the hill to where she was to get it back for her. They laughed, the poor girl still seemed embarrassed about it as she took a seat next to Mrs. Ingram.

Mr. Rochester took a quick glance as he always did to where Adele's young teacher sat alone at the far side of the room. Jane had quickly looked down at the large tablet across her knees. She held a pencil in her delicate hand, she was drawing. This intrigued her master for he had wanted to watch her hands create a scene every since the first night that he had beheld her peculiar fantasies of art work. In careful glances, he observed her intent focus on her work. He could tell that she was in a world of her own making now. He wanted to bring her back to where he was.

The opportunity to do so presented itself when Blanche announced her desire to hear music and sing. She suggested a song that was popular with the younger generation. Mr. Rochester thought it rather a simple song with no depth to its measure. Then her mother suggested a song from her own generation that varied in melody and required a higher level of vocal skill. It was also meant as a duet. Mr. Rochester jumped at the challenge, he knew that Jane had taken notice in the past when he sang, her eyes would stay on him for the duration of the song. He honestly thought that his voice had improved of late because it was meant only for her.

Blanche's voice was robust and Mr. Rochester was easily able to match it. He surreptitiously watched for Jane's reaction, a look, a deep breath, setting aside her work, there was no change in her demeanor. She seemed to be more drawn into the object on the page. Not once did she look up for she was not affected at all by the song which was meant for her. He sang the last lines with perhaps more force than required although the guests were impressed and clapped with vigor at the finish. Blanche wished to sing another, he pardoned himself away from her. She joined Louisa to look through a song book. He had to know what manner of fantasy had fixated his darling Jane right then.

He approached her with light tread so as not to break her spell—yet. The vision before him of the his firebird in full detail with powerful outstretched wings lifting it away from an entanglement of long grass amazed him. She knew exactly how he felt when relaying that story, she had remembered every detail and more that he had not even imagined. She was making its hidden feathers with the blood red strokes of a pencil. In an instant, she was back in his world, looking up at him with a blank expression, he swore to himself that her unreadable expressions would someday do him in yet he adored them every time.

"Sir, how are you this evening?" She greeted him carefully.

"Enchanted." He noticed more detail within her firebird drawing.

"Miss Ingram has a beautiful voice, much like your own."

If only Jane knew that it was all meant for her, he thought.

"Indeed. So this is what has you completely tonight."

He sat down next her, a familiar soothing comfort entered within him, like reaching a warm fire on a cold winter's night. She continued with her illustration. He was entranced as her fingers formed the earthbound blades of grass beneath the bird.

"You have it, Jane. Even better than I imagined it when I told the story to Adele."

What a pleasant afternoon that he and Jane had shared that day.

"It was she who asked for the drawing. I believe that she liked your story even though she pretended not to." Jane gave her own observation.

"Is it so wrong to believe in a firebird who wishes to escape and be free? To fly away never to return? Well, is it Jane?"

He could see that her character had grown more confident and restless in his absence these past few weeks, and deep within, it scared him.

"I should think it very possible, sir."

"After she has revealed her true nature by the crimson wings that carry her away?"

"She? I have imagined the bird to be a 'he' as I was drawing it."

The firebird of his imagination was clearly inspired by a young woman of independent longings.

"When a gentle creature becomes fearsome in its flight, it will become lost to its beholder in so many ways. Where will it go?"

He had moved in closer to warm his face near that proverbial comforting fire in winter, recalling the night that she saved him from his literal fire. There it was, Jane's incredible look that could peer directly into his spirit without really seeing it, or so it seemed. Her thoughts kept behind a vail of mystery to him, he must have her answer.

"Edward, can you teach Col. Dent to sing our anthem?"

If only he could send all of his guests out of the room.

"In a moment, Blanche."

Mr. Rochester moved back into his winter state of mind already missing the warmth in her that he is naturally drawn to.

"Miss Eyre, I should very much wish to see this drawing at its completion."

"Yes, sir."

"Don't leave, Jane."

He left his honest desire for her to interpret hoping that she would do so correctly. As he rose to leave her, his arm gently lingered past the hand which made the firebird come to life and up the rest of the arm feeling the bend in it before completely releasing her. Blanche may have noticed. She seemed indignant. He did not care if she was. Walking away, he heard three heavy pencil strokes and her lightly muttered comment of "This bird is ready to fly".

His fear of any kind of departures became a fierce determination to satisfy a tension that must soon be released.


End file.
